


Just a Man

by sohydrated



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Masturbation, Trans Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohydrated/pseuds/sohydrated
Summary: Our favorite majordomo carries a bit of a torch for a certain witcher
Relationships: Barnabas-Basil Foulty/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 27
Kudos: 98
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes, Witcher Rarepair Discord Collection





	Just a Man

**Author's Note:**

> No one asked for this and thank god I delivered. Header from bookscorpion, who is such an amazing writer and person.

When Barnabas-Basil had been informed that he was to serve a witcher, he bowed and accepted the order with grace. He was, after all, a professional and was sworn to serve whomever became the master of the house. Secretly, he suspected it was due to his constitution--many viewed witchers as barbarous, slovenly Nordlings. If an average majordomo was to serve one, they may well have a nervous breakdown with the first bloody trophy dragged over a fine rug. They needed someone who could withstand even the most offensive of behaviors with a smile, and Barnabas-Basil had become somewhat famous for his previous service to Admiral Rompally, who once requested that the majordomo serve a party for three days with no sleep. He had done it, and though he was a hare's breath away from collapsing by the end of it, none of the guests were any the wiser. Whatever may come, he thought, could not be worse than that. 

Corvo Bianco, as it turns out, was rich with beautiful history. He found the story of the well of wine to be particularly delightful, it certainly added character to the estate. The grounds, sadly, were lacking due to disrepair. It most likely wouldn't bother the witcher, but it hurt his pride to see balding rows of grapevines and the stained artifice of the home. Perhaps he could convince sir Geralt of the importance of restoration, but he wouldn't be sure until he met the man. 

To keep himself steady as he waited for the new master of the house, he ran through all of the parts of the estate he would like to introduce first. He was firm in beginning with the servant's quarters; he may be responsible for the witcher's care, but he was equally indebted to the workers who made it possible to run the vineyard. The quarters were in the most disrepair, his own roof leaked something dreadful, but only on the eastern side. He wasn't sure if a pathos approach would even appeal to a witcher, but he _was_ coming to help the dutchy, and was even a friend of the Duquessa, so he may be open to empathizing. 

Sir Geralt approached one past noon, which was the perfect time to see the vineyard in full swing. He was, well, not what Barnabas-Basil had expected. He was dashing, though he would never admit that he thought that. He was the right mix of rugged and pretty that only romance novelists could hope to describe, and the scar over his brow and cheek drew attention to his cat-like eyes. His voice had a timber that resonated through his chest, and Barnabas had to school himself to keep his thoughts professional. He was meeting the master of the house, for Lebioda's sake! 

The witcher was calm, and rather sheepish about never having owned property despite that being rather obvious given his profession. He looked relieved when Barnabas-Basil told him he would handle everything. He was, surprisingly, very interested in the history of the estate, asking a few questions and laughing at the man who fell down the wine well just as he had. When they reached the solarium, where the previous lady of the estate had planted her most delicate flowers, the majordomo mentioned you could almost still smell them, and sir Geralt called him a romantic. He felt a faint blush on the back of his neck, having just added the comment for flare and not expecting it to be picked up on. 

Concluding the tour, he began to discuss upkeep of the estate cautiously. Again, sir Geralt very much surprised him.

"I don't mind shelling out money to fix the place up. I've never had a home before, so I want it to be nice." He had an honesty in his voice that reflected in his shining golden eyes. In spite of his schooling, the majordomo's eyebrows raised.

"Oh, excellent! Now, would you like to work on the fields or the home first? We can spruce up the gardens, get them in working order for you and your alchemical needs, or tend to the master bedroom and--"

"What about the servant's quarters?" Geralt interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"Can I work on them first? I noticed...well I saw that they were in bad shape. And I'm not going to be here all the time, but you are. It makes sense to renovate them first." 

"I. Yes of course, sir. I can get started on that right away. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?" 

"No, I need to head out to follow a lead. Also, please just call me Geralt. The 'sir' is...hm...it just isn't for me."

"I cannot promise you anything." Barnabas-Basil quipped, thoroughly disarmed by the generosity to keep up pretenses. Geralt laughed, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I like you, BB. I'll be back tomorrow at some point."

"I'm glad to hear it. Safe travels si-Geralt." Geralt laughed again, waving over his shoulder as he exited the house. 

When he was sure he was alone, BB let his shoulders slump in relief. He had tried not to hold any expectations of the day, but this went leagues better than he could have hoped. And repairing the servant's quarters before anything else? This man was certainly not of the landed gentry he usually worked for. What a breath of fresh air! He silently hoped it lasted as he marched off to procure a contractor. 

\-- 

True to his word, the witcher did come back, though it was well past dark and most of the staff had retired. Barnabas-Basil was sat on the lounge reading when the front door banged open and Geralt dragged himself in, his armor torn over his left shoulder and bloody cloth peeking out under the leather.

"Sir! Are you alright?" The majordomo was up in a shot, pulling up a chair and ushering him into it.

"Geralt. And yeah, I'll be okay, might need some help, though." He winced as he eased into the seat. 

"Of course! I can bandage wounds, if you need." He was trying not to fret over the man, instead leaving him to request what he needed.

"Good, it's in an awkward spot to do on my own. But I need a bath first, I gotta clean everything up."

"Will you be alright to wait while I draw you one? I can send for a medic, if that is preferrable."

"Nah, might only need a few stitches to hold the worst of it together. I'll be here." He waved his good hand to shoo BB, who hurried to get everything ready. 

Only a short time later, he reappeared to find Geralt kneeling on the floor, eyes closed.

"Sir!" Barnabas called, regretting not calling for a medic. Geralt opened his eyes slowly.

"'M fine. Just meditating. Everything set?" 

"Oh, uh, yes. I have the bath drawn and sutures ready for you. Sanitized, of course." He reached down to help the witcher up instinctively, and was about to stop himself when Geralt grabbed his hand and pulled up to his feet. They walked to the bathing room, connected to the master bedroom. Geralt sat down on the shower bench and began undoing his armor with the one good hand. He looked up to BB, who was checking the temperature of the water.

"I hate to ask, but I might need your help getting out of all this." He gestured to his torn armor.

"Oh, it will be no trouble at all. I assist the master of the house with whatever he needs." He replied in a flippant tone, kneeling in front of the man to get at one of the many buckles of his armor. 

"Yeah, well, just because it's your job doesn't mean you have to like it." The witcher grumbled.

"If I may say, you are already proving to be vastly more considerate than any other man I've worked for. This is truly no trouble." He commented. _As well, I do rather like_ **_this_ ** _part._ He thought to himself, carefully removing the outer armor and stood to gather the supplies.

Geralt was able to pull his undershirt off on his own, and from there it was easy to check the wound. Three slashes extended from the trapezius to just past the joint of his shoulder. They had stopped bleeding, but the skin around them was swollen and red. The initial spot the claws (he assumed it was claws) had pierced was the deepest and would need stitches, but the majority of it would heal on its own. At least, according to what Geralt was currently telling him about witcher mutations. He took a rag soaked in alcohol and rubbed it over the wounds, Geralt hissed a bit under his breath but stayed still as he cleaned. He was equally as calm for the stitches, though Barnabas-Basil was so tense he feared he might snap like a wire. 

If he had thought Geralt dashing before, he now saw him as exquisite. The criss-cross of scars across his body did little to deter from his physique, and the way his muscles rippled under his fingers as he worked was tantalizing. He clenched his jaw, this was his employer, and an injured man no less! He got a grip on himself before he could lose himself in thought, and finished suturing the last of the slashes. 

"There, those should heal well." He noted, a hint of pride in his voice over the quality of the work. 

"Gods BB, I don't know what I did to deserve you. That was the least painful stitching of my life." He groaned and rolled his head back to look at the man. His cheeks tinged pink at the compliment.

"Well I'm glad to hear it. Now, let's get you in the bath." He knelt in front of Geralt again and began working the laces of his boots, pulling them off. He chanced to look up, which was a bad idea. Geralt was looking right at him, and the angle, well, his mind slid to more indecent things. Desperate for an excuse, he collected the boots and armor and stood.

"I will see that these are cleaned and repaired for you. Do you need assistance with anything else?" He stood rod-straight, holding on to the composure he was _supposed_ to be known for. 

"Uh, no I don't think so. Thank you, BB, you have been such a help. Tonight would have really sucked without you here." The witcher offered him a tired, but sincere smile and stood.

Barnabas-Basil felt pride swell in his chest, as well as fondness. He's known Geralt for a very short amount of time, but he could feel himself being dangerously enamored. 

"I'm glad that I was able to help, Geralt. I shall take my leave, then." He turned the handle of the door.

"Oh, wait, hold on! Can you have these cleaned too?" Geralt called, and he began undoing the laces of his trousers with one hand. He pushed them down along with his smalls, kicking out of them before handing them over. 

Barnabas, however, had caught notice of what was between (or rather not between) Geralt's thighs. His eyes fell to the light, short patch of white hair above his slit. His clit was peaking out, pronounced and _gods_ he felt weak in the knees. His eyes snapped back up to Geralt's face, who was looking him in the eye with slight amusement. Barnabas had gone red from neck to scalp. 

"I-I'm so sorry, sir, I'll be going." He was stammering, ashamed beyond belief to have been so unprofessional. He was sure this would land him out of a job, ogling the master of the house as he had.

Instead, Geralt stepped closer to him and placed his trousers on top of the pile of clothes.

"Relax, BB. I know it's not something people see every day. Just don't go telling anyone." He turned with a wink and stepped into the tub, apparently done with the conversation.

"No! I would never! I really do apologize…" he trailed off, trying not to make an ass of himself. _Well, more of an ass, anyway_. He thought wryly. 

"You're not in trouble. We can talk about it tomorrow if you'd like. Tonight, I'm relaxing." His tone dismissive, but not harsh.

"Yes, of course. Goodnight sir." He bowed and all but scurried out of the room. 

After delivering Geralt's armor to the laundry, Barnabas sat wringing his hands to think of what to do to apologize to Geralt. He had bathed, massaged, and patched up many people over the years without batting an eye, yet the mere sight of the man had left him a slack-jawed idiot. Perhaps a fine vintage to help him relax? He went down to the wine cellar and found a lovely 1253 vintage of Est Est, which would have cost a small fortune. He grabbed it and a glass from the kitchen and approached the door to the bath. Geralt was still in there, he heard the water lapping over the edge of the tub as he moved. 

He was about to knock when he heard a groan. He froze, listening again for a moment. It occurred to him that Geralt might need help, so he set the wine down and pressed an ear to the door to get a better idea. 

He heard panting, and then a quiet, but unmistakable " _Yes…"_ hissed out.

Oh.

_Oh._

He jumped away from the door like it burned him. It wasn't bad enough that he had lecherously stared at him, now he was spying on the witcher as he pleasured himself. But he couldn't bring himself to leave, just yet. Another quiet moan made him lean back toward the door. 

He could imagine Geralt lounged in the bath, stroking himself with two fingers slowly. Maybe he liked to tease himself first, fingers rubbing along his folds, avoiding his clit until he couldn't take it. The image was so intense, he was stroking himself through his trousers, he had already been more aroused tonight than he had been in ages. Training be damned, he was only a man, after all. 

The panting grew louder, and he rushed to undo the ties of his trousers. Taking himself in hand almost made him groan, he bit his lip. If he was caught…

Gods the thought made him throb. He could imagine throwing himself before the witcher's mercy, on his knees. Maybe Geralt would take pity on him, pulling him so his face was right in front of his crotch, one leg up on the bench and make his servant lap him like a dog. 

The pants and moans coming from the bath were louder now, and were only fueling his fantasy more. He was stroking himself eagerly, he couldn't have stopped if he wanted. His mouth watered at the idea of sucking Geralt's clit, of rolling his tongue around it while the witcher ground his nose into his pelvis, the delicious scrape of nails on his scalp. Would he let BB stroke himself during? No, he decided. Geralt would want him to open him up with his fingers while he sucked him, make him work hard to apologize for what he did. And he would, he would happily bring the witcher off as many times as he could stand if it meant that he could keep serving like this, feeling him gush around his fingers. Maybe, if he was good enough, he would be allowed to rut against Geralt's leg. The thought made his cock drool. 

"Ah, ah, _fuck"_ Geralt moaned from the bath. He was cumming, and all it took for BB to follow was one swipe of his thumb over the head and he was biting through his lip and spilling into his hand. 

He was seeing stars, he didn't think he ever came that hard in his entire life. Splashing water reminded him of his incredibly dangerous predicament, and he stuffed himself back into his trousers and wiped his hand off on them. He would have never done something so repulsive but he had to sneak away quickly. He crept from the room as quietly as he could and even left the home from the kitchen door, to be safe. It wasn't until he was washed and settled in his bed that he was willing to believe he wasn't going to be rent to shreds by two blades. 

\--

The next morning, he arose earlier than usual despite the late night. He steeled himself so he wouldn't betray last nights actions, and set about making breakfast. The vineyard was between cooks at the moment, but he was more than capable enough to prepare a hearty meal fit for a witcher. 

Geralt came out of the bedroom as it was almost all prepared, seemingly led nose-first. 

"Mmmm, morning BB. What's all this?" He was looking at the sausage, fruit parfait, and pancakes that were already set out on the table. 

"Breakfast, sir. I'm just finishing the eggs, the kettle just finished boiling if you would like some tea." 

Geralt grabbed the handle of the kettle with no towel, seemingly unaffected by the heat and poured the hot water into the teapot before loading the steeper with black tea. He looked at the single place setting and frowned. 

"You made a lot here, are you gonna eat with me?" 

"Oh I had thought…" Barnabas trailed off, unsure of what to say. 

"Oh c'mon, you gonna make me beg?" Geralt teased. 

"I-very well. Let me finish up." He filled a bowl with the eggs ( they were very fluffy, if he did say so himself) and grabbed an additional plate and cutlery. He brought it to the table as Geralt poured his tea. They ate companionably, with Geralt complimenting his cooking every few bites. He relaxed bit by bit as he realized he wasn't going to be physically removed from the grounds by a pair of strong, scarred hands. 

"Hey BB I wanted to say thank you again for sewing me up last night. You're clearly a man of many talents." Geralt said as he munched on the last sausage. 

"Thank you. I aim to please." He hid his blush with a sip of tea.

"Oh, and thank you for the wine! I don't know when you even found time to leave it there, but I had a glass after my bath. Incredible vintage." He said the last bit with almost a dreamy note.

_THE WINE!_ He forgot the wine! He gasped and got a lungful of tea, leaving him sputtering. 

"Something wrong, BB?" 

**Author's Note:**

> the missing scene of this is geralt, who can smell a horny man from 20 paces, walking into his bedroom and going "nice"


End file.
